


The Curator

by Princess_Pinky



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Pinky/pseuds/Princess_Pinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is The Curator?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curator

**Author's Note:**

> Why, yes, I really think I might…

**_The Curator_ **

"I think you got the nose a bit off."

"I did _not_ get the nose off."

"You did."

"I think I know myselves better than you, Dear."

"Do you?" An old woman, hair curly and bushy like white sagebrush, rose from her chair. She left a book in her place beneath the lamplight— _Summer Falls_ —and moved to stand before him, her wrinkled hands cupping his sagging jowls. "Sweetie?"

There was a collection of clicks as the large teeth and white curls before her vanished into a display of silver, slowly shrinking back into the Easter Island shaped head she knew so well, albeit wrinkled, and the mahogany hair replaced with powdery white. He tapped her nose. "You would know."

"I always know."

"I know you do."

"The question is: does he?"

The Doctor sighed heavily as he wrapped his arms around his wife. "He wonders, but he hasn't figured it out yet. Often Time Lords regenerate looking like people they've never met; sometimes never will. There was once a Salamander who looked like me."

"A salamander?" River asked skeptically.

"Yes, an absolute tyrant," The Doctor said dismissively. "But that was a long time ago." He ran his weathered fingers through her snowy curls. "My point was that as far as he's concerned, I could be anyone."

"With knowledge of Gallifrey."

The Doctor harrumphed. "I know he doesn't know because _I_ remember not remembering."

"You forget a lot, Sweetie."

"How did you grow sassier with age?"

"I had to do _something_ while I was inside CAL for centuries."

"I'm sorry you had to wait."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. My mother waited. My father waited. Waiting isn't bad. It's the not knowing—the lack of closure—that hurts, my love. But I knew I had to wait for you to live out your days, so your nights could be mine. I knew I could save us then."

"And save us you did." The Doctor smiled.

"By cheating."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." The Doctor pressed his lips to her cheek. "But two minds uploaded to their own Tesselecta systems? That's brilliant!"

"I thought we were just echoes?" River said, her voice sarcastic though not accusatory.

"What is a person if not their memories?"

"Their actions, their legacy, their imprints across time and space."

A soft grunt escaped The Doctor's lips. He hobbled to the chair, picked up the book, and sat down in his wife's seat. The Doctor motioned for her and she obliged by taking a seat on his lap. "It's nearly story time."

River rested her cheek against his. "Do you want to read to them this time or should I?"

The Doctor slipped his arm around his wife's waist. "Perhaps, this time, together?"

The door slammed against the wall just then and the room lit up with the energy of fifteen primary school children who clambered to get the seats at the edge of the elder couple's feet. A breathless teacher ran in behind them, his red cheeks puffed and sandy hair askew. "I – I apologize, Professor!" he gasped, speaking in River's direction. "I told them to knock but–"

River raised her hand. "We don't mind, do we, Sweetie?"

The Doctor shook his head as the children calmed themselves, knowing their weekly story hour wouldn't start until they were quiet as mice. "Now," he said softly. "Where did we last leave off?"

"Kate had just introduced herself," a small, ginger haired girl at the back of the group answered.

"Ah, yes," The Doctor said with a twinkle in his eye. He opened the book and held it up for his wife's view.

"'Kate shook her head. 'Who are you?' she giggled.'" River threaded her hand through her husband's, beckoning him to take his turn.

"'To her surprise, the man shrugged. 'Not anyone, really. I'm just looking after the museum for a friend. I guess you could call me the Curator.'"


End file.
